


Timestamps and Headcanons from The Huntress Universe

by clumsygyrl (thegirlthatisclumsy), thegirlthatisclumsy



Series: The Huntress [2]
Category: Captain America (2011), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Abuse of Fall Out Boy song titles and lyrics, Aftermath of Torture, Alcohol, Badass Avengers Ladies, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Other, Timestamp, Torture, headcanons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 15:43:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlthatisclumsy/pseuds/clumsygyrl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlthatisclumsy/pseuds/thegirlthatisclumsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically these are all the scenes that my head came up with as canons for the characters in this universe?  Can be all read separately and they all stand alone. Like the cheese.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. BAMF(Bad Ass Motherfuckin' Females)'s Night

**Author's Note:**

> Many many thanks once again to Schuyler for beta'ing this and having the best track changes comments. Also, she asked awesome questions and answering them only (I hope) made these collections of mini-fics better.

It started like most things.

With alcohol.

“In Soviet Russia...”

“Dear God, Nat, please do not finish that sentence,” Clint muttered with the bag of peas over her eye and Darcy hovering with a bottle of vodka and pitcher of Kool-Aid. “You are the Queen of Bad Ideas, Lewis.”

“We don't have time for Jello shots to set. And I'm celebrating the end of a disastrous relationship with Ed from Accounting,” Darcy said plopping down next to Natasha and poured her a mason jar glass half full of vodka. 

“We have mason jars?” Clint asked accepting her own pink drink. Red Kool-Aid and pear flavored vodka was surprisingly okay.

Darcy clinked glasses with them. “Now let me tell you how very badly Ed sucked at getting me off.”

+

Jane was the next to join. She had regular access to the labs now and free reign over most of the common places in the Tower. Darcy was in the middle of crushing up mint leaves for mojitos and Jane wandered in, face slack with exhaustion and her hair ratted on one side. “You sadly have sex hair without the actual having of the sex, Jane.”

Jane stared at Darcy and held out her hand for the glass. “I think we just broke six laws of physics and possibly made a rip in space and time.”

Clint and Natasha yelled. “Chtob vse byli zdorovy!” They downed their drinks and called out for another round.

“Have another drink, honey. We'll see if we can't dig you up a TARDIS,” Darcy said patting Jane on the head and steering her toward a seat. 

+

“The trouble with being a woman and working where we do,” Maria pointed her bottle of beer at Pepper's face with a scowl. “Not you, because you don't work for dickish assholes with weapon fetishes.”

Pepper sipped her martini and just stared at Maria.

“I concede your point,” Maria said and Clint plunked another bottle of Molson's in front of her.

+

“The guys are worried. Their emails are hilarious,” Darcy said, kicking her heels off and crawling around the curve of the couch to rescue the big bottles of orange juice and vodka from the cooler behind it. 

Maria rolled her eyes. “Typical.”

These nights were a tradition by now. Not all of them were around at the same time for most other things, but for the last Wednesday night of every month they always seemed to be free. There weren't any ops that Clint or Natasha had to be on or board meetings that ran late or evil robots that ran amok those nights. The universe, it seemed in this, was kind.

“It has to be some kind of divine intervention,” Pepper said neatly setting aside her heels and undoing her hair from its bun. 

Clint sprawled out on the floor and nodded. “They're calling it our Monthlies.”

The collective hiss was loud.

“Definitely going to have to institute some PR events for Stark Industries. Possibly with board members and their wives,” Pepper said taking her big glass of mostly vodka and a splash of orange juice with a grateful little smile.

“Sparring at 0800,” Natasha said with her head on Clint's stomach. “With knives.”

Darcy winced. “You would think they don't respect us.”

Natasha laughed and it wasn't a happy sound. “Welcome to the world we live in.” She rolled her head against the carpet to look at Darcy who was frowning on the couch. “When you can not make them respect you, fear works. Respect is better, but fear works just as well, matryoshka.”

“But... they're your co-workers and your teammates. They should respect you,” Jane said scratching her head and she sipped her drink through one of the many crazy straws Darcy kept bringing to their Talking Nights.

“They should. And they have so far not made me feel that they do not respect my skills or value them, but they are men and they tend to underestimate skills when they come in pretty packages,” Natasha tilted her head toward Clint's fingers as they combed through her hair. “But they are at times too stupid to realize that their assumptions are a valuable weapon as well.”

Clint smirked at that. “She once convinced a crown prince to give her his country because she was wearing a smile on her face and a song in her heart.” 

They burst out laughing.

“I hit Thor with my car. Twice.” Jane offered with a grin.

Darcy raised her hand. “Tasered him.”

“You get a motherfucking high five for that shit,” Clint said holding her hand out. Using Thor's elements against him was a definite win.

“I blew up Tony's Bugatti. And his Roadster. And burnt his entire winter Dolce suit collection." The list went on and on because Tony was(is/continued to be) a handful. They all look suitably impressed at both Pepper's deviousness and Tony's exploits on earning said punishments.

“I once shot the Prime Minister of Khalikstan. Then slept with his wife.”

That got Nat high fives from everyone.

“I have pictures of three of the joint chiefs in tutus,” Maria said smiling faintly. “Making out with each other.”

They toasted Maria for that one.

“I got drunk on mescal and still managed to qualify for the Beijing Olympic trials.” Clint shrugged. “I didn't even know you could sneak into the Olympic trials.”

“You can't. You slept with the girl and took her credentials,” Natasha said flicking at Clint's nose.

“Ow! Quit it! Okay, okay. So apparently the Olympic officials think all blondes look the same in the daytime,” Clint said frowning.

There was a long moment of silence.

“Assholes.”

They poured Darcy a fresh drink for that.

+

“So, we should be concerned, right?” Tony asked watching the video feed. 

JARVIS was limited to video and no audio.

“I should have taken up lip reading,” Steve muttered narrowing his eyes slightly and leaning forward.

Bruce grunted and angled the screen a fraction of an inch and pushed his glasses up his nose. “They're positioned in a way that means that whatever they're discussing is heated.”

“Sex! It has to be about sex!” Tony said pointing at the screen.

“Everything is sex to you, Tony,” Steve shook his head. “If it were something they wanted us to know, they'd let us in on it.”

Coulson swept into the room and glanced at the screen then frowned. “That is an invasion of privacy, gentlemen.”

Tony pointed a finger at Coulson. “You sound like a man who knows what they're talking about. Spill.”

Coulson set the folders down and eyed Tony. “They're talking about cock sizes and comparing. They have lists.”

Tony whooped and then stopped. “Wait. I can only count three who have intimate knowledge of our junk. Who else's junk are they talking about?”

Coulson flipped open the first folder. “I need signatures on these, gentlemen.”

“Seriously, Coulson. How are they getting intel?” Tony glared.

Coulson just smiled blandly and walked out. Tony kept squawking and yelling even as the lab doors slid shut behind him.

+

The elevator shut with a soft shush. “Agent Coulson, sir?”

“Yes?”

“I would like to point out that the ladies are only speaking of the latest attack on the West Coast and nothing salacious,” JARVIS said with a faint note of reproach.

“I know, JARVIS,” Coulson said stepping out of the elevator and heading to his room.

“Ah, so you lied to them, sir.”

“Yes.”

There was a short pause. “Sir, if I were programmed to cackle, I presume that I would at this moment.”

“Noted, JARVIS.”


	2. What to Do in Fresno When You're Undead (aka Phil the Vampire Slayer in Dolce)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint hates plaid. 
> 
> Phil has stakes. According to the title, that is not a typo.

There was a lot of dust flying around and Philip J. Coulson hated his life.

+

There was also a master vampire trying to choke the life out of his asset.

Dolce was not meant to withstand vampire attack.

Clearly this was a mistake made by the makers and not the consumer.

+

“Fresno? Are there people that actually live there?” Clint asked pushing her glasses up to the top of her head. She squinted at the very thin report in front of her. 

Phil tapped his pen against the top of the folder. “There have been an inordinate amount of missing and dead in the suburbs. We're taking a small team to investigate.”

Clint eyed him with a narrow gaze. “You're going to make me go to school again, aren't you?”

Phil slid over her dossier.

“Really, Coulson? A substitute teacher? Why am I wearing plaid?”

+

Phil sat in the van and tipped his head back and listened to Clint try not to threaten the seventeen year old who had propositioned her. 

“Look, kid. I'm here to teach you English. About books and shit. Stuff. I am your fu-freaking Dalai Lama of literature right now. You are barely passing this class. Your teacher is out because of a nervous breakdown. Here is your assignment. Do it. If you do not do it, you fail. If you try to palm my ass again, I will break your hand.”

“You can't do that! I'm a student!”

“Kid, I can do whatever the hell I want. I'm Union.”

+

“I hate you, Coulson. I know you can hear me. I know that Jenkins and Petrelli can too. But I would like to state for the record that I hate you. I hate this town and I hate your guts so very much. I am making food for the creepy Physics teacher. I am making him food with my two hands because intel says that he may be the creepy sorcerer that may or may not be eating his students,” Clint banged a pot on the stove.

“I would also like to state that this dinner is going to be fucking delicious and you losers have to eat Taco Bell and I do not envy any of you because you're going to be in that van with Jenkins who always eats those nasty bean burritos and has a very disruptive G.I. tract. I am making a deliciously stupid vegetarian meal because Bill Sanders is a vegetarian and possible murderer because Agent Philip J. Coulson is a huge bag of dicks who put me in a dress to deal with hormonal teenagers and teach them English when they think that the heights of literary achievement is freaking J-14 and articles about how awesome Justin Timberlake is. And how awesome the song Gone is! He wrote that song because he missed her. Because she went to get her hair done. That, that my friends is a real turn on. That's what a lady wants to hear.”

There was a faint _ding-dong_ from Clint's door bell.

“So, know this Coulson. I hope you die of methane Taco Bell gas poisoning,” Clint said. “Oh, hi Bill. No, not talking to anyone. Just... er, the cat. I have a really annoying little furball named Phil. Yup. Like Collins. I hope you like tabouleh.”

Phil just sighed and ate another soggy nacho chip.

+

The murderer was not Bill Sanders.

The murderer was not a sorcerer.

The murdered was a vampire.

A vampire who had snapped after teaching high school students for over two hundred years.

+

“Hate you so much,” Clint gasped choking on dead (re-dead?) vampire dust. She laid out on the gymnasium floor taking in big gulps of air. She was covered in a film of gray and her plaid skirt clashed horribly with the school colors, but Phil thought she was beautiful. “God, Coulson. Stop staring at me with your 'Yes, another successful op! This will definitely look good on all our records and improve our ratings!' look. I hate you.” 

The stake landed on the hardwood with a clatter and the sound of the other agents doing clean up was somehow muted. Phil held out a hand and jerked her to her feet. “Agent Barton?”

Clint used Phil's tie to wipe her face clean and she grinned at him. “Sir?”

“Shut up.”

“Not a chance, sir.” Clint shoved her hair out of her face and was already yelling for someone to find her bow and arrows. “Time to get medieval on these fangers! SUCK IT, SOOKIE!”

Phil sighed and was already mentally filing his expense report for a new tie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This, in my head, happens probably around the first year of Clint and Coulson working together. True Blood the television series has not yet come into being in around (2001-2002ish), but the first Sookie Stackhouse novel has. Also, if you read the earlier version of this Clint harps about S. Meyers. It's been changed a bit. As Twilight and it's...glory? haven't been unleashed into the general public. Also in my head, Clint reads a lot of (trashy) paperbacks she can pick up at airports or in the middle of Nowheresville big chain stores to wile away the hours. Clint dislikes Sookie Stackhouse. She finds her kind of whiny.
> 
> Clint does not hate *Nsync. But Justin Timberlake did write the song Gone for Britney Spears because she was out getting her hair done.


	3. A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the (Captain America panel and) Forum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ComiCon. Red bull. Sniper rifles and Phil in cosplay.
> 
> See my regrets? I have none.

“Clint, you did not do what I think you did.”

Clint blinked up at Coulson and held up the laminates. “We have a 72 hour blackout. San Diego is three hours away. I have enough Red Bull, MREs and deodorant to last us. The choice is yours, sir.”

“You are an evil, evil woman,” Coulson snatched the slick plastic from her hand and looped one over his head. 

“I request permission to throat punch the first guy who tries to talk me into the Leia slave costume.”

“Pending.”

“Good man.”

+

Clint wandered next to Coulson and shifted her pack on her shoulders. The crowds made her a little edgy, but there was no feeling of malice. She made herself relax. 

Coulson was smiling and stopping at every other booth. “We have to hit the hall. Check out the collectibles.”

Clint just shoved his shoulder and pointed. “Lead the way, Captain.”

Coulson flushed a little and adjusted his tshirt and jacket. It was a full costume with the goggles and helmet from Captain America's first mission to save Bucky Barnes. The shield was a fiberglass copy but looked pretty authentic, angular and with sharp edges. Clint snickered thinking about how accurate it was. Clint knew for a fact that Coulson may have snuck high security peeks at the photos of the shield from the archives. “After you, Bucky.”

The fake sniper rifle (a very realistic copy of a SMLE No. 1 Mk. III with a bright orange tip at the end) was slung across her back. With very few adjustments, Clint could get the rifle in working order, but they weren't here for that. “Always a gentleman, Cap.”

She led the way and her Captain followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This happens around 2004 or so when Clint and Coulson are finally (and they can both admit it) friends. She's the Bucky to his Captain. Complete with fabricated replica weaponry! (Except Clint could actually kill you with hers, but shhh.)


	4. This is Not Budapest (But Tell That Mick He Made My List of Things To Do Today aka No One Wants P.J. Coulson's Job.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title is mangled from a Fall Out Boy song title. 
> 
> Also, no one wants Phil's job.

No one wanted Agent Phil Coulson's job. No one ever thought they could do his job. 

He was okay with that.

+

“You need to stop doing that,” Captain America said grunting and levering himself out of the hospital bed. “It's unnerving to wake up with you watching me.”

Coulson simply raised an eyebrow. “You may be my hero, Captain. But rest assured, if you do not put your body back in that bed, I will not hesitate to plant you there myself.”

Captain America glared at him and crossed his arms over his chest. “I'm fine.”

Coulson shoved at his shoulder and tucked the blankets in around him. “You're really not.”

“It was just a little ray gun shot!” Steve threw up his hands and fell back against the bed.

Coulson tsked softly and patted his arm through the blankets. “The scientists said that the effects should wear off in 24 hours.”

“What effects?”

Coulson pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Steve, do you happen to know Ancient Greek?”

Steve looked at Coulson with a frown. “Nooo.”

“Then please tell me how you've been speaking it for the past ten minutes.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“I'll just sit here then. Maybe take a nap. Uh, maybe you could get me some dolmades?”

Coulson smiled. “Just rest, Steve. I'll get you some food.”

+

“So, that happened,” Clint said scratching her chest and then squeaking at the lack of breasts. 

Tony sat in the middle of the room cupping his boobs and then patting his goatee free face.

Bruce was pale and shaking, trying to cover himself with the remnants of his button up. He unfortunately had a lot more in the chest area to cover than he did this morning.

“Huh,” Natasha winced a little and wiggled till her catsuit sat a little better. She also showed the entire team that she was now dressing to the right.

“I am unaccustomed to changing forms. But, as the Lady Sif is a mighty warrior, this should not inhibit Mjolnir or I muchly,” Thor boomed, looking like a big blonde Valkryie. There was even a breeze going on behind him making his hair wave and the cape just accentuated his breast plate. “I do wonder if this form will not be appealing to my dear Jane.”

Coulson pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed in deeply and let it out on a five count. “Captain, please stop crying.”

Steve looked up from Darcy's lap and his lower lip wobbled. “That policeman pinched my bottom! He thought I was a stripper! HE TRIED TO PICK ME UP! I AM NOT A PIECE OF MEAT!” He tried to hide his considerably more curvacious figure under his shield.

“My poor sweet All American girl,” Darcy said patting Steve's head. “Well, at least I can totally use that summer at Wesleyan to get back into practice with the whole girl kissing thing.”

“They said 48 hours. Tops,” Coulson said eyeing the bar.

Clint hopped on top of the bar and scratched at her balls. “Gentleman, enjoy the blessings of multiple orgasms. I am going to get drunk and go pee off of things. Who's with me?”

Coulson just pinched the bridge of his nose again.

+

“You let them eat the cakes. The cakes that said, “Eat me!” Those cakes?” Coulson asked in a very soft voice.

The junior agent quaked in his shoes. He tugged at his tie. “Yes, sir. They came special delivery. They were irradiated and we thought it was just the cafeteria being nice. It's Mr. Stark's birthday.”

“You thought that our lunch support staff baked cakes for Tony Stark's birthday and then sent them up to the war room for the team to eat? The staff that has actively tried to poison Mr. Stark since he reprogrammed all the ovens to loop the phrase 'Soylent Green is people!' that staff?”

“Y-yes?”

“And you gave them the cakes.”

“Y-yes, s-sir.”

“Agent Masterson, you are going to do several things for me. Very quickly. You will be running a sample of the cakes to the lab to get them analysed. You will then go to the nearest Duane Reade and pick up several boxes of pull-up diapers, Go-Gurts, and diaper rash cream. You will then buy out the store of juice boxes, fruit snacks, and toddler toys. I will be sending another agent to meet you at a babywear store where you will be purchasing clothing for all of my team who are now under the age of six. You will not be reimbursed. Do I make myself clear?” Coulson snapped the pen in his hand in half.

“Yes, sir.”

“Get out of my sight before I shoot you.”

Agent Masterson carried out his punishment stoically. He fed, clothed, and changed diapers until the Avengers were adult sized again.

Coulson calmly accepted his letter of transfer to Quantico and only sent him one box of baby toys to torture him afterward.

+

Phil Coulson was not going to die today. 

He had cheated it too many other times to count and he was not going to die this time. He was, however, bleeding out on the floor.

“If you die on me, Phil I swear to God...” Clint kissed him hard and Phil grinned at her. He felt a little woozy. 

“Stop giving me orders, Agent,” he patted her cheek and frowned at the marks he left behind. 

Clint yelled into her throat mic. “Get me a transport two minutes ago or I will find you all and shoot you in the head.” She grimaced at the knife wound just under Phil's ribs.

“Damn, that side was pretty clean. Was hoping for no scars on that side,” Phil muttered and poked at the edge of it. He had to add a special memo in his report to commend the supply department for the really great morphine in the field kits.

Clint snorted out a laugh and dumped some Quik Clot over the wound. “If you bleed out on me, Philip Jay I am totally telling Sheriff Martha on you. She will totally kick your ass and make you do ride alongs till the end of forever if you miss Mother's Day again this year.” She kissed him again and wiped her hands off on her tac vest. 

“Don't cry, sweetie. 'm okay. Barely a scratch.” Phil aimed a kiss at her mouth but missed and got her cheek.

“We are never doing solo ops in Peru ever again. Nothing good ever happens here,” Clint said peeking up and out the window. The building shook a little as if knowing that the bird was touching down outside their little hut.

“I'll take it under advisement, Agent.”

“You're an idiot. No idea why I love you,” Clint said and wiped her face as they got him on a board. 

Their fingers twisted together, only moving when they put a line in Phil.

She did not let him out of their bed for a week.

Most of it was for recovering.

Phil did not mind being taken care of as long as it was her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I repeat, no one wants Phil's job. These events are probably from the first six months of the Avengers inception. 
> 
> Bet you Pepper buys him econo-sized boxes of Tums.
> 
> Also, I find dolmades delicious. As does Steve.
> 
> Yes, Coulson's mother is the county sheriff. She is just as bad ass as you would imagine.


	5. Snitches and Talkers Get Stitches and Walkers (Lima, Peru 080808)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from another Fall Out Boy song title I mangled.
> 
> WARNINGS (I HAZ THEM): Descriptions of torture, kidnapping, terrors of possible rape, mental and physical abuse at the hands of kidnappers/terrorists. August 8, 2008 plus some days was not a good month for Francis Clinton Barton. Feel free to skip to the very last scene for the future-happy ending!

**Day 000**

They took her two miles off her pick up point.

**Day 001**

Clint woke up and immediately wished she hadn't.

The shackles around wrists and ankles were thick and had no give. She was stripped of everything save her underwear. She rested back against the cement wall and estimated the length of her chain gave her enough give to get to the bucket in the corner, but not much else. There was a tin cup in the opposite corner. Unknown if her captors wanted her to use it for washing or for drink. She took a mental inventory of her injuries.

Her head felt thick. She was betting long range stun dart or taser from unknown location. She had abrasions on her legs and arms. Body dragged for extended time. She squeezed her thighs together and noted that her underwear was in tact and there were no signs of forced sexual contact when she was unconscious. She closed her eyes and opened them quickly. She tracked the light she could see from the tiny hole high up on the wall. She didn't think she had a concussion.

The door to her cell banged open and she lifted her head.

“You will be made an example.”

Clint smiled up at him sunnily. “F. Clinton Barton, US Government Specialist, - Class AS, serial number 1-971-07-01.”

The first hit was not a surprise. Neither were the next dozen.

**Day 003**

She ate with her fingers. The grain was mushy and there were rocks left in it. She ate around them, spitting the pebbles out. She was slightly dehydrated, but she knew they were coming. She'd missed her pick up nearly 72 hours ago. The slight lump under the skin of her hip told her that her captors hadn't cut her tracker out.

She ate and she waited.

The door banged open and a shadow fell across the room.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

“You will be made an example.”

“F. Clinton Barton, U.S. Government Specialist – Class AS, 1-971-07-01.”

**Day 006**

They stood in the doorway of her cell. They trained their guns on her and they made her crawl. She was so hungry that she hoped the view was good enough for them to actually let her eat whatever slop they'd left for her. She wished she didn't care and she could salvage a tiny scrap of pride, but she knew she her stomach wouldn't be filled by that.

She ate the bowl of rice and water with a grimace. She memorized their faces and made sure that they saw in her eyes their death.

She spat a pebble at them.

They returned that gesture by pistol whipping her with their guns.

**Day 007**

They mostly left her alone. 

The quiet was almost peaceful.

**Day 010**

They brought her to the main camp. It was a rough square of dirt in the center of a block of rough buildings. Her right eye was swollen from Sunshine's gun butt and there were boot heel marks against her ribs. She tallied up her injuries quickly – sprained shoulder, possible slight dislocation; mild dehydration; severe malnutrition; swollen and blackened right eye; infection to cuts on left foot; possible cracked second and third ribs on left side; sprained wrist and tweaked left knee. They dragged her to a dais and Clint swallowed down the bile and straightened her spine.

There was a camera set up and they had her stand in the hot sun blindfolded. They were speaking in rapid fire Spanish and Clint translated most of it. Most of it was in some bastardized form of Biblical passages. She knew that she was the puta they were referring to and she wondered distantly if they were going to rape her in front of the cameras. The splash of excrement on her body made her stomach clench, but she kept her body still. She could place all the guards and their positions. 

The blow to the back of her head was almost a comfort.

**Day 016 ******

They came in and broke her right hand that morning. The pain was clear and bright and she vomited all over herself from the pain. 

“What words do you have for your fellow Americans?”

“F. Clinton Barton, U.S. Government Specialist – Class AS, 1-971-07-01 is very sad she will not be able to wear this summer's latest trend, platform heels.”

She retched dryly when they broke the other hand.

**Day 017**

“We will not sully our bodies with lying with an American disgrace. As God's warriors we will remain pure in heart, soul, and spirit and are above the sins of the flesh that you perpetuate with your culture.”

“Glad to hear it, Sunshine. Gonna kill you.”

“It would be an honor to die in His Name.”

“Sunshine, I don't think He'd be too keen on you doing this stuff. Then again I was never much of a Sunday school girl.”

**Day 018**

Not her hands. Not her eyes.

Just please. Don't.

**Day 022**

This would be the third time they had moved locations. She had lost, in her estimation, fifteen to twenty pounds. Soon, if the opportunity presented itself, she would be too weak to run. It would be the best tonight at guard change. These guards were fresher, but inexperienced.

She shivered in her underwear. She almost laughed when she spotted the old busted can right next to the spike in the floor where she was tethered. She grimaced and dragged herself over to it. She almost giggled to herself. The red label made her snicker. “Chicken soup for the prisoner's soul.” The top was almost all the way torn off. She imagined that it was opened with a camp can opener. Her fingers bend and twisted the flat circle off. She tested the edges and almost laughed again at the sharpness. The outsides of the can were speckled with rust marks, but her little circle of tin was sharp.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” she hummed under her breath.

She waited.

**Day 023**

There was gunfire in the distance and men yelling. 

It was quiet in her cell. It was as if she'd been in on the op.

Sunshine and his group came in just at dusk. He was such a creature of routine. 

He talked and espoused more rhetoric. His two lackeys stood just inside the closed door.

It happened quickly.

She looked up at him, standing with her back to the wall. 

“Look at you. Covered in your own filth. The videos we sent to your government. They waffle about your value. They care nothing of you. We should kill you,” Sunshine said grinning at her. 

Clint tilted her head as if hearing something in the distance. “Nah, that sounds like a sucky plan, Sunshine.” She darted forward, the pain in her still healing hands screamed at her as she palmed the jagged piece of metal. It cut across Sunshine's neck with a wet meaty sound. Her palm had half the metal embedded by the time Sunshine finished gasping. She grabbed his pistol with her right hand, the one he always kept in the waist band of his pants and fired on the upswing as she turned. Two shots to goon one, straight center mass. Kill shots taking out the heart. Goon two made it into the hall before the head taps took him down. 

Sunshine was still lying at her feet holding his throat and gasping for air through the gout of blood pouring from his body.

“When you get up there, you go ahead and ask Him if this was He wanted done in His Name. Pretty sure you're going to get poor marks, Sunshine.” Clint put him out of his misery with one bullet through his eye. The blow back made her grimace and she made a mental note to remember she hated upclose kills. They were so messy.

She looked around figuring she had possibly five minutes before the sounds from the shots fired would bring the rest of the camp to them. Or maybe not.

They probably figured they'd killed her finally.

She searched Sunshine's pockets and Goon number one's for keys or something to pick the locks. She helped herself to Goon number one's kerchief to bind her hand to staunch the blood. She was saving the metal lid. Coulson would frame it for her or something.

She shook her head and knew that dehydration, lack of real food, and blood loss were getting to her. 

She sighed collecting one pistol, one rifle, a pair of pants that were too big and a shirt from a dead man to cover herself. 

The universe hated her. Goon number two had a set of shiny keys clipped to his belt. 

And her chain was too short for her to reach them.

She wanted to laugh.

She set the gun down to strip it for parts to pick the multitude of locks holding her. This might take a while. She was in the middle of opening lock four when the gunfire and explosions started.

“Well, it is about fucking time.”

+

“Your tracker was damaged. From the blast from the electrical disruptor dart they used,” Coulson said as Clint shoved Jello pudding into her mouth. Her left hand was bandaged.

Her right hand was not broken. It was slightly fractured. Her laundry list of injuries took up a couple of pages and Clint didn't bother to look at it. She was riding the pine till she was cleared by the graduating class of Harvard Medical it seemed. “So, they fried my lojack and it took you guys a month to find me as they kept moving me?”

“Unfortunately. I will be speaking with Agent Jackson. He was incorrect in leaving you to rendezvous with him at the meet point,” Coulson said arms crossed over his chest. “It will not happen again.”

Clint rolled her one good eye. The other one was rocking a very cool eyepatch. She was going to be Fury for Halloween. These painkillers were super topnotch. “It happened. Besides you can't really blame the guy. He was getting shot at.” 

“He made it to the meet point without you and proceeded to leave you behind. He told Sitwell that you'd gotten a transport with the SEAL team.”

Clint set her spoon down and she whistled. “Well, that stupid son of a bitch. Fucker. So, he left me out to dry because I wouldn't fuck him. That is low.” She perked up. “Can I tell Nat that part?”

Coulson's lips twitched and he smoothed his hands down the front of his jacket. “I'm sorry I wasn't in the field with you.”

Clint waved a big gauzy mitten of a hand at him. “Coulson, it's fine. I wasn't raped. They punched like sissies and I killed the ones that beat me up. They were almost gentlemanly.” Her smile was brittle and bright and she foresaw a very, very, very long next few months of talking to the head shrinkers.

Coulson made a noise from the back of his throat. “You're on medical leave till you're personally approved for clearance from Alvarez and your new permanent handler.”

Clint raised an eyebrow at that. She was a junior agent and specialist. She wasn't aware they had permanent handlers. “Tell me it isn't Sitwell. He's hilarious, but seriously he squeaked when I shot him with a nerf gun.”

Coulson opened the next pudding cup for her. “No. It's me.”

Clint snapped her mouth shut and she picked up her spoon. “Huh. Well.”

“Problem, Agent Barton?”

Clint shook her head after a moment. “No. No, sir. No problem. We're good.”

“Glad to hear it.”

+

Clint found a small picture frame in her locker right before her first op back. There was a jagged little circle of tin, dark at the edges with dried blood and rusted toward the outer edge. No inscription on the front, but there was a sticky note on the back with Coulson's writing on it.

“Try to come back less broken next time. Use this as a reminder. -PJC”

+

Years later, the tiny frame kept a place of honor on her nightstand.

She always laughed when Phil knocked it over reaching for his reading glasses or the condoms.

She called it her lucky charm.

He never ever corrected her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this fandom I have had to research some really odd things (odd to me). Researching Conduct After Capture statues was a new one for me (name, rank, and serial number.) Clint's serial number is a mix up of Jeremy Renner's birthdate (because I do things like that. *facepalm*)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Timestamps and Headcanons from The Huntress Universe [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/519669) by [greeniron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greeniron/pseuds/greeniron), [thegirlthatisclumsy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlthatisclumsy/pseuds/thegirlthatisclumsy)




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